were intent upon the business ahead and their outlook
was darkened.

X

"Would you like me to come up with you, Charles?" Graeme asked, as the
steamer rounded the breakwater.

"Yes, I'd like it," said Charles gloomily. "But I think I'd better go
alone. I don't believe anything's going to come of it."

"I'm afraid not--as far as we're concerned. You'll just have to keep a
stiff upper lip and stick to what you believe the right thing to do."
To which Charles replied only with a grim nod, and they went ashore.

"We'll walk up to the town with you," said Graeme, when they got
outside the harbour precincts. "When you've got as far as you can with
him, come down to the shore due West. You'll find us by that old fort
we saw from the boat;" and presently they branched off towards the
sea, while Charles went doggedly on into St. Anne on as miserable an
errand as ever son had.

He tramped on along the hot white road, till he found himself in the
sleepy little town, where the grass grew between the granite sets in
the roadways and a dreamy listlessness pervaded all things. He sought
out No. 99A High Street and knocked on the door.

It was opened by an elderly woman who seemed surprised at sight of a
visitor.

"Mr. Peace?" asked Charles, feeling thereby _particeps criminis_.

"He's inside. Will you come in?"

She opened a door off the passage, said, "A gentleman to see you;" and
Charles went in and closed the door behind him.

His father had started up from a couch where he had been lying. There
was a startled look in his eyes and his face was pale and worn, but a
touch of colour came back into his cheeks when he saw who his visitor
was.

He had shaved off his bit of side whisker. His face was grayer and
thinner and his body somewhat shrunken, even in these few days. He
wore a white tie, and his coat and waistcoat were of clerical cut. On
the table was a pair of gold spectacles and on the sideboard a soft
billycock hat. He looked the not-too-well-off country parson to the
life. The only outward and visible sign of the old Jeremiah was the
heavy gold pince-nez which lay between the top buttons of his
waistcoat, which he hauled out and fingered as of old the moment he
began to speak.

"Ah, Charles! This is good of you. I hardly expected a personal visit.
I was beginning to fear you had not got my letter, or that you had
decided not to answer it."

"It followed me to Sark."

"Ah! you are back in Sark?"

"I th